Ricochet
by Concolor44
Summary: There's a new meta in town, and the Titans don't know what to make of him. Maybe if he would just hold still ... Rated for possible violence and/or language. Implied shipping only.
1. Beast Boy

_**Ricochet**_

. . .

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 1: Beast Boy**

I was the first one who spotted him, that first day.

Terra got the northern half of the city and I got the half south of Benny's place. We'd swap, just to keep it interesting, dividing the territory one way or the other, but that day there wasn't a whole lot goin' on. It was mid-afternoon, high summer, and you could've fried an egg on any sidewalk in town. I'd taken the form of a needletail swift, just riding the updrafts as I flicked around a couple hundred meters up, keeping an eye on the pedestrian traffic below. I knew I could be at street level in four seconds flat if I had to.

The first inkling I had that something might be 'off' was when I caught the sound of screeching tires coming from few blocks east. I zipped over that way and scanned the area, but didn't come up with anything right away.

Then I heard another long tire-screech, and that one ended in a brief crunchy sound. It was only maybe a block away and I got there as soon as I could. It wasn't much more than a fender-bender – the driver skidded sideways into an empty bus stop kiosk – and nobody was hurt. I found a couple that'd seen what went down and they told me this guy just jumped right into traffic. The girl also said that the car doing the skidding looked like he'd been about to run a red light. Her fella confirmed that, and said he'd just been pointing at the about-to-happen accident when the jumper landed on the car.

I had to blink at that one. "Dude … _**on**_ the car?"

"Serious, Beast Boy! He bounced off the hood and landed all the way over on the sidewalk."

"That's right!" the girl added, "And he ran off that way!" She pointed south.

"Thanks, guys." I morphed into a deerhound and took off.

Not having any clue what his scent was like, I picked a sight-hound, 'cause I figured I could catch up to him real soon (deerhounds are freakin' fast) and I didn't wanna startle him. I mean, come on, what's it gonna do to your heart rate if you notice a cheetah on your tail, right?

It wasn't more than two blocks when I caught sight of someone running up ahead. And I do mean **_running!_** He musta been clockin' thirty klicks, so instantly I knew I had a metahuman on my … uh … paws. I jumped into the air and morphed into a peregrine falcon, and a few seconds later I was on his six.

Falcons have amazing eyesight. They have to, if they want to be successful predators. So I could see lots of detail. The runner was male, maybe 170 centimeters, dark-skinned with short dark hair – couldn't tell if he was African-American or East Indian or what – and _**very**_ heavily muscled. I mean, the guy had on sweat pants and a mesh tank top, so you could see how ripped he was, and damn if he didn't look photoshopped! I could tell he was running about as hard as he could go, and he looked real determined to get somewhere. I decided to follow and see what was up.

Two blocks later he hung a left, bouncing off a light pole, and before many seconds had passed we were in a residential part of town. Jump City does that. You gotta wonder about the zoning laws around here. Anyway, he kept straight for three blocks and then zigged right. He was slowing down some, I could tell, and looked like he was breathin' real hard. But he kept going.

Halfway down the next block there was this guy standing on the sidewalk, staring at the house in front of him. Mr. Running Guy came right up to him and stopped and said, "Hey, you!"

It startled the man, who jerked around and … he was holding a gun.

Remember what I said about a falcon's eyes? I could see that the weapon was a semi-automatic pistol, a Sig Sauer P226. (Hey, just because I don't use guns myself doesn't mean I don't think they're cool. Besides, it's good to know what you're up against in a street fight.)

The man didn't hesitate at all. He suddenly had the pistol up to ready position and popped off two shots just as fast as the trigger would act.

Running Guy didn't even have time to duck. He took both shots, center- torso, and …

... and ...

… and didn't fall. He didn't jerk or take a step back or even twitch.

Pistol Guy's eyes got really big, and he unloaded the remaining eight rounds in the magazine in less than two seconds, and every slug hit Running Guy. I got over my shock about halfway through the barrage, and streaked downward. My intention was to morph into something relatively large and barrel into Pistol Guy and knock him down, but I didn't get the chance.

Okay, once again, recall what I said about my vision in falcon form. Falcons are flawless at detecting movement and change; the reigning experts at _'what's wrong with this picture?'_ types of situations. So the fact that Running Guy had started to glow did not escape me.

I just didn't have time to do anything about it.

Faster than an eye-blink, Running Guy stepped forward and swung his clasped fists up into Pistol Guy's midsection like a sledgehammer, and Pistol Guy shot upward … right into me, and right when I was changing into a kangaroo. We tumbled together and when we hit the ground, Pistol Guy was on top of me.

Things sort of grayed out for a bit. The impact knocked the wind out of me, and I reverted to my human base-form. But Pistol Guy was a good bit bigger than I am, at least a hundred or maybe a hundred and ten kilos, and I was sort of stuck. As soon as my head quit ringing and I could concentrate, I morphed into a bear and stood, and that shook off Pistol Guy. I looked around, but Running Guy was nowhere to be seen. There were, however, a whole bunch of folks from the neighborhood peeking out of their houses. That Sig was pretty loud.

I yelled to one of them to call 911, and checked on Pistol Guy. He was out cold, but breathing.

A shadow fell across me and I looked up to see the frightened eyes of a woman in her (I would guess) late twenties. She whispered, "Beast Boy?"

Standing, I gave her a salute. "At your service, ma'am."

"Did … did you stop him? He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Putting two and two together, I asked, "Do you know him?"

She nodded. "That's my ex. James." She went around to his other side and used a foot to push the Sig away a couple of meters. "I got a restraining order against him."

That gave me a chill. "Recently?"

Another nod. "Three weeks. But he didn't show up for his probation appointment last week, and yesterday somebody called twice but didn't say anything and then hung up." She stepped up to me and gave me a quick hug. "Thank you for stopping him."

"Ah … um … heh. You're welcome an' stuff, but, uh, I didn't technically stop him. There was another guy. He beat me to it."

"Oh." She looked around. "Where is he?"

My eyes narrowed as I considered the situation. "That's a real good question, ma'am." I knew Robin would have a thing or two to say about my technique later, but I couldn't worry about that just yet. Then I picked up the sound of approaching sirens. "Ma'am, he's …"

"Jennifer."

"… Beg pardon?"

"Jennifer Smith. I like Jennifer better than 'ma'am'. That makes me feel old."

"Sorry. Jennifer, then. It looks like the police are just about here, and he doesn't have his gun now, so …"

"He'll have another."

"Oh?"

"He always carries at least two."

Stooping, I did a quick search, and turned up another pistol, a J-frame revolver in his pocket. Holding it gingerly, I decided to wait for the police. "Thanks for mentioning that. Although, really, I think he'll be out for a while. That other guy hit him _**really**_ hard."

"Good."

Some three minutes later, after a short explanation to the officers, I took to the skies again. This Running Guy had a very firm grip on my attention.

See, while waiting for the police, I noticed a few things. Pistol Guy's brass casings were mostly on the sidewalk and street near where he'd been standing. But the slugs? The storm of lead that should have punched a slew of holes in Running Guy? Yeah, they were in a small, scattered group right on the cement right in front of where he'd been standing when they hit him. And every single one was in perfect condition. I mean, they looked ready to go into a reloader.

Yeah. Running Guy definitely intrigued me. I spent the rest of the day looking for him, but didn't turn up a trace.

And I was right. Robin wasn't happy with me.

. . .

. . .

. . .

**A/N: I love my Muse. Really I do. But she ****Just Won't Leave Me Alone**** with the plot bunnies!**

**So. This will be five chapters and an Epilogue, with impressions of Running Guy from each of the Titans. Stay tuned, O Faithful Ones!**

**Next Chapter: Robin.**


	2. Robin

_**Ricochet**_

. . .

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 2: Robin**

If it hadn't been so damned hot, maybe I could have …

No. No excuses. I screwed up. I screwed up and he got away.

And after the lecture I gave Beast Boy about doing exactly the same thing …

Hang on. Let me back up a few hours.

Star and I were on patrol, and we'd met for lunch. Nothing excessively fancy, only a couple of those sizzling platters at Applebee's, but she loves the atmosphere for some reason. I just end up going with it. Anyway, we were working our way through a caramel-apple-crumble-with-ice-cream thing when her T-Comm beeped: it was Cyborg with a call over at the docks. Star had the west side of town today. I asked if I should come, too, but he said it was just a little gang trouble, just a bunch of teenage losers making noise, and all Star would have to do to get them to fold was show up. (Honestly, it isn't that I mind when we get called out for piddly stuff like that, but I really have to wonder what the JCPD _**does**_ besides handing out traffic tickets.)

So she took off. I finished what little of the dessert was left and was just trying to get the waiter's attention for the bill when my own T-Comm went off. It was Vic again.

"What's up, Cy?"

"Hey, Rob, got somethin' weird goin' down at the north end of the Financial District."

"Define 'weird' for me."

"I think it might be that dude Green Bean ran into the other day."

That got my attention. "Do you have a precise location?"

"Yeah, that's just it. He's on the move, and movin' damn fast from what I can tell. But he caused another fender-bender, just like he did before."

"What the hell? Thinks he's the Prankster?"

"I dunno, man, but there's a hella gridlock at Westerfield and 17th. PD's on the scene. No injuries, but two cars totaled."

"… How can there be two totaled vehicles without …"

"Dam'fino, but that's what happened. Pickup truck and a Porsche; the sports car's front end is flat, and the truck's upside down. I'm lookin' at the TraffiCam feed as we speak. Both drivers crawled out without a scratch."

That made me think. A major smash like that, and no injuries? _At all?_ Something didn't add up. "Okay, I'm on it." I slapped a fifty on the table and bounced. The waiter could keep the change.

I had the R-cycle parked outside, so I was at the accident in less than two minutes. (Too bloody hot to be on foot, that's certain. It had to be pushing 45°C out there, and muggy to boot.) Sure enough, the drivers were fine. One of them was arguing with the EMT about getting into the ambulance. I snagged a police officer and asked her if there were any witnesses. She pointed out a couple talking with one of the other officers, and I marched over to where they stood under an awning, trying to stay well out of the brutal sunlight. The policeman in question had one of the most incredulous expressions on his face I'd ever seen.

"And he just dropped out of the sky? Just like that? You stickin' to that story?"

The couple he was interviewing seemed as frustrated as he did. The man said, "How many different ways do you wanna hear it?"

"Why would we make up such a crazy thing?" insisted his companion, "because if I wanted to spin you a story I could sure as hell come up with a better one than that!"

It was a sure bet that some part of the irritation everyone was showing had to do with the heat. I certainly wasn't the only one whose clothes were glued to his skin with sweat. Getting her attention, I cleared my throat and asked, "What did you see, ma'am?"

Instantly realizing who I was, she brightened noticeably and grabbed the man's arm. "Hey, Ted! It's Robin!"

He got an expression on his face that just screamed 'vindication' and announced, "Officer, look! It's Robin! I bet he's seen _**lots**_ more weird things than that!" Turning to me, he demanded, "You have, haven't you? Seen crazy crap before?"

"More than you might realize, sir." Steering the topic back to my liking, I said, "What exactly did _**you**_ see?"

The officer, relieved (at a minimum) to be shed of the duty, tore off the top sheet of his notebook and passed it to me. "Here's what they told me. I hope you can make more out of it than I can."

A quick scan of the paper left me frowning. Getting the woman's attention, I asked, "Did you have any sort of warning before he fell on the truck?"

"No! That's just it! I just _**happened**_ to be looking straight at the truck, and this guy bounces off the roof and right into traffic!"

"So you don't know how far he fell?"

Obviously thankful that someone was taking her seriously, she gave a shaky laugh and answered, "No, not really, but it musta been pretty high up. He hit hard. I mean, really hard."

"Is that what flipped the truck over?"

"No," responded her companion, "Shanna's right, he hit like a ton of bricks, but the truck didn't flip 'til it ran over the Porsche. I think the impact startled the driver and made him lose control."

"Hmm." I made a note of my own. "Then what?"

"Then he bounced off and fell on the ground."

"Yeah," interjected Shanna, "but he didn't look like he was hurt any at all. He got up and ran off."

"Right. Really fast."

"Fast?" I was curious. "Define 'fast' for me."

"Um … maybe fifty or sixty klicks. Nothin' like what I've heard of about, say, The Flash, but, you know, three or four times as fast as a regular human can run." He chuckled. "Possible present company excepted."

I didn't comment on that. "Which way did he go?"

"Uh … well …" began Ted.

Shanna interrupted him. "We kind of … have a disagreement about that. I saw him …"

"You _**think**_ you saw him," Ted put in.

She blew him a raspberry. "Ted says he got down to the next block and turned right. But I'm pretty sure I saw him duck into the subway."

"I saw what I saw."

"You were behind me."

"And you're short!"

She poked him in the ribs, eliciting a sharp yelp.

"Thank you," I said, mopping my brow with the back of an arm. Even in the shade, the heat was terrible. I went back to the R-cycle with the intention of zipping down the street. He'd gotten a head start of four minutes or so. If he was the same guy, he could keep up that speed for quite a while. I snagged my helmet off its rack and …

Okay, once again, let me back up some. The way that the collision left the two vehicles skewed had completely blocked the intersection. JCPD was doing a creditable job of re-directing traffic, and already had lines of cones set up at each end of Westerfield. That road is a four-lane, no median, and a fairly major artery through the Financial District. I had wondered absently whether this 'Running Guy' (we didn't have a better moniker for him yet) might be a part of a gang that was setting up a robbery, but there's not really anything major near 17th, so I mentally filed it away for later study. Patterns can pop up in the strangest ways.

But I'm getting off-topic. The way the Porsche landed blocked 17th, and where the truck was sitting blocked Westerfield. Only a few minutes had passed, and the wreckers were still on the way, so things were pretty static. The drivers were standing on the sidewalk, in the shade, talking on cell phones (probably to their loved ones … or insurance companies). Anyway, my point is that there was no one standing in the intersection when the pocket of sewer gas that had built up under the street finally reached some critical combination of pressure and heat, and detonated.

It knocked most of us off our feet, and tossed the truck some four or five meters into the air. The roof had been sitting directly over the manhole, and blocked a lot of the force. I shudder to think where that forty-kilogram cast steel cover would have sailed if the truck hadn't been there. A big section of pavement caved in immediately afterward, creating a sort of sinkhole-like situation and swallowing what was left of the truck. If the owner had entertained any vague ideas of getting it repaired, that put them decidedly to rest.

I recalled then that I thought I'd picked up a whiff of sewer gas when I first arrived, but in a city as haphazardly constructed as Jump, that's not uncommon. I shook my head in disgust. Maybe this incident would kick the City Council's collective tail hard enough that they'd do something about the infrastructure problems.

Yeah, right. And maybe self-aware, pineapple-dwelling sponges would show up at the Tower and offer to clean our windows.

After determining that no one was hurt (another minor miracle) I decided the better part of valor would be to just patrol the area until 'Running Guy' showed up again. Because that seemed to be a safe bet.

. . .

. . .

. . .

Close to half an hour passed before I actually caught sight of him.

It was maddening. He would pop up somewhere close by about every five minutes, but never close enough that I could get there before he vanished. And the stories I got were eerily similar. Apparently this guy liked to jump off tall buildings, and didn't seem to be bothered much by high-velocity impacts. That would corroborate Gar's report about the bullets. But it didn't make me happy.

He had, however, been instrumental in stopping a strong-arm robbery (by landing on the perp, leaving him with a concussion and two broken legs) and a purse-snatching (see previous comment, minus the concussion, plus fractured collar bones). On the other hand, he'd caused another accident, much more minor than the first one, but it blocked a residential street for a while.

I was sitting at the intersection of Talliaferro and 22nd, trying to make up my mind which direction to try next, when I saw a blur race by a block away. The R-cycle pulled on me hard as I put its acceleration to the test, and I swung out behind him in only a few seconds. That witness was right, he could move at about fifty klicks, but my ride could do five times that on a smooth, straight road. When I got right behind him I flipped my PA system on and said, "You need to stop!"

He acted as if he hadn't heard me. Didn't even flinch. I followed him for another half-block and then decided to stop him myself.

Traffic was very light, which I counted a plus. Even as maneuverable as the R-cycle is, I didn't relish darting between cars to chase some speedster on foot, and I've had two broken arms to back me up on that. Damn good thing Raven's such a stellar healer. Anyway, I didn't have any trouble zooming around in front of him and cutting him off cold.

So he just jumped over me.

Well. Speed, apparent invulnerability, and now we can add at least a measure of super strength to the mix. He didn't seem to exert much effort, just hit the pavement a little harder than usual and lofted right over my head like a hurdler. The automatic camera in my helmet got several photos as he sailed by.

What went through my mind was, _Okay, then, I guess we'll do this the hard way._ I gunned it after him. But at the next intersection he cut a hard right and then pulled another right into an alley.

I thought that maybe I might be able to corner him since I knew that alley was a dead end with a five-meter chain-link fence at the end, topped with concertina wire. (Batman made me memorize the maze of alleys that snaked all through downtown Gotham, and Jump City is a LOT smaller, so it's really no trick.) However, the entrance was blocked with a concrete construction barrier, so I had to park and follow on foot.

I could hear the dull smack of fists hitting flesh even before the R-cycle's engine wound down, and drew my bo staff as I jumped into the alley. But halfway down to the end, several images impinged upon my brain, and I slowed down.

_Girl, crying._

_Blood._

_Thugs._

_Running Guy._

_Falling thugs._

_A knife sticking out of his back._

_More falling thugs._

Then Running Guy was coming straight at me. I held the bo in a defensive position and yelled, "Stand down!"

He reached back and pulled out the knife, then tossed it to me as he zipped past, easily avoiding my strike and calling out, "She not hurt. Dey all yours," before kicking it into high gear and disappearing out the head of the alley.

I logged that mental snapshot for later examination. He **_wasn't_ **invulnerable! One of the thugs had stuck a knife in him. How, then, did the bullets not perforate him? That merited some study, once things settled down.

Well. Priorities are priorities, and I had to help the girl. A quick examination of the scene showed that the four low-life types were _**sincerely**_ unconscious. The girl, who couldn't have been more than fifteen, was curled up in a tight ball and still sobbing.

"Miss, are you hurt?"

She managed a shake of her head, but her sobs kicked it up a notch. Poor thing was scared half to death.

I pulled out my T-Com and got in touch with the police.

. . .

. . .

. . .

I'd just wrapped up my (very brief) report with the PD and the EMTs when Starfire appeared over the alley and glided down next to me. Giving me a brilliant smile (aren't they all?) she announced, "The rumble of gangs has been suspended. The leaders of the two factions are in police custody, and that should prevent further violence."

I chuckled. "At least until they get out of jail."

"Oh, quite possibly for longer than that. I challenged each of them to the contest of the wrestling of arms. As it transpired, neither of them knew very much about me. They were both very large, and I believe they felt that defeating me would not be difficult."

_**That**_ made me laugh out loud. "So they didn't know you can dead-lift fifteen tons and rip steel plate apart like a paper towel, huh?"

"That they did not. And when I insisted that they compete at the same time, one on each arm, they laughed at me. But their laughter did not last very long."

"I'll just bet."

"They expressed a high degree of surprise at the outcome, and not a small amount of rage. But I would not be dissuaded from our agreement, and placed them both, as Cyborg says, in the hoosegow. Their gangs were still milling about when I returned, but they dispersed quickly when urged to do so." She pursed her lips and thoughtfully tapped her chin with a fingertip. "Perhaps the extreme heat had affected their brains? It does not bother me, but I know that most humans do not enjoy such high temperature levels."

I couldn't help it. Such elegant work deserves recognition, and I know how much she likes kisses. Nor did I mind it a bit when she squealed, grabbed me, and kissed me back _**quite**_ thoroughly.

This job does have its perks.

Then Cy picked that very moment to call her again. There was a mugger on the loose and the cops wanted her in the air to help find him.

She gave me a look of regret. "I would very much like to stay and help you locate the Running Guy, but the police feel that my aid carries a bit of the pressure of time."

"I understand, Star. Go do what you do best. And be careful."

"This I will do, Robin!" And she shot into the air, disappearing quickly.

. . .

. . .

. . .

It wasn't long before I was back on his tail.

Or he was on mine. It was occasionally hard to tell which.

What happened was that I spotted him climbing a fire escape. We had moved a little north of the Financial district and into an older part of the city. The buildings weren't as tall (exterior stairs were more common) and he was zipping up a little faster (probably) than I could without mechanical assistance. I pulled up near the edifice (it looked like an old office building that had been turned into apartments) and watched as he made it to the roof and disappeared.

Tooling around to the other side, I kept my gaze pointed skyward and sure enough, he reappeared at the edge. He only scanned the street below for a second before launching himself into a long arc. The belly-flop he did on the pavement made me wince in sympathetic pain, but he only bounced up and ran off away from me.

I followed him, got up next to him (he was doing fifty klicks again) and called, "Sir, we really need to talk."

This time he glanced at me. I couldn't peg his heritage. Probably some combination of African and … hm. Maybe Caribbean? I'd find out.

He shook his head. "No time, mon."

Ah. Definitely Caribbean, and most likely Jamaican. "Sir, you have to stop causing these traffic accidents!"

"Got to, mon."

We came to an intersection and he cut across the sidewalk in a hard right. I skidded around after him. _Got to? What does that mean?_ But that's when I caught sight of the smoke.

When we arrived at the house, the rear was already shooting flames out the windows. Running Guy barreled into the front door, knocking it clean out of the frame, and vanished in the smoke that was rapidly filling the structure. I yanked out my T-Com and got the fire department on the line, gave them a twelve-word explanation, and set the device on 'homer' mode. Then I put a re-breather over my mouth and followed my quarry into the house.

He practically ran into me. Cradling a small child in one arm, he was using his other to balance an old man over his opposite shoulder. "Dere's a woman on de floor up dere, mon, you gotta get 'er."

Hesitation in situations like that one is something I shed a long time ago. Without even nodding, I ran up the stairs.

Okay, I might have mentioned how hot it was that day already? Once or twice? Yeah. This house either didn't have air conditioning or it was broken, because it was absolutely sweltering inside. The small property didn't have any trees, and even with the windows open it was five or ten degrees hotter than outside ambient. I'd been going hard for a while, and sweating a LOT, and had allowed myself to get somewhat dehydrated. So, yeah, my bad.

The woman was on the upstairs landing, where she looked like she'd collapsed from smoke inhalation. She wasn't a small person, and outweighed me by probably twenty kilos. My head was swimming badly by the time I had her across my shoulders, and negotiating the stairs was something I can barely even recall, but I did manage to get her outside and laid out on the grass next to her family without passing out.

I stumbled over to the R-cycle and grabbed one of the fortified-water containers, downing it in three long swallows. That would help in a few minutes. First, though, I needed to make sure the victims were all right. I could just barely hear the sirens of the approaching emergency vehicles.

Running Guy, naturally, was nowhere to be seen. And I didn't hear or see anything of him at all the rest of the day.

Damn it.

. . .

. . .

. . .

**A/N: I like this OC. I also like introducing his abilities slowly, in the course of their investigations. I'd also love to hear some speculation on what else he might be capable of … and why he's doing what he's doing.**

**Next Chapter: Terra.**


	3. Terra

_**Ricochet**_

. . .

. . .

. . .

**Chapter 3: Terra**

See, the thing is … um …

Uh … well … it was like …

Shit. I'm no good at this.

Even after Raven _**totally**_ worked and worked with me for, like, _**days**_ … I still glitch it up sometimes.

Robin says not to worry, that they're all behind me and I have plenty of time and yadda yadda yadda.

Then some crap happens like what I pulled yesterday and …

All right. Deep breath. Do that ground-and-center thing Raven taught me. (She's way better at it than Slade ever thought about being, but then she isn't some Mister Supreme Evil Maniac who's trying to control my mind so she can take over the city/state/country/world, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised, and also she has my best interests at heart 'cause I can tell, even if she never actually says anything.)

Whoa. I need to stay on topic.

Running Guy. That's the topic. And he already slipped by Gar and Robin BOTH, so I don't feel as bad as maybe I might.

Okay. Start at the start, as Raven says, and you're less apt to miss anything.

You know … I really think we're more alike than any other two of us on the team. Me an' Raven? Shady pasts, and totally righteous powers that we, um, have a little trouble with now and then, and maybe not so great at relating to other people. Yeah, we sorta come at it from different angles most of the time, but …

On-topic. Right. Sorry. I might be a little hyper. It's just that … yeah, okay, there's shit goin' on with me right now that is totally off the hook. Sure, yesterday's patrol went straight down the shitter, but I've got a slammin' guy, an' he _**totally**_ rocks my world, an' I never had _any __**idea**_ how much fun sex could be with a shapeshifter, an' …

Damn. Where'd I put my Adderall? Don't think I had one this morning. Raven usually reminds me but she was out on early patrol an' I was up late playin' _Covert Ops: Monkey Island_ with Vic an' tryin' to get my mind off my screw-up, so I kinda overslept this mornin' and missed …

No, wait, now I remember. Robin reminded me. I took it with my orange juice.

Get your head on straight, Terra. And tie it down.

Okay.

I was patrolling out by the docks. Vic had the east half of the city. He usually takes the east or the south 'cause the roads are better so he's more mobile in the T-Car. So I had the coastline. Suits me. More rocks an' dirt an' sand an' stuff easy to come by. Not that the rest of the city doesn't have plenty of parks an' woods an' crap, but on this side I've almost always got a line-of-sight on some ground I can use, an' I like that. Comfortable, you know? Lots of raw material to work with.

So, anyway, I was floatin' along in my modified boulder … yeah, see it's been hotter 'n Hell's attic for a couple weeks now, an' the weather guys say it'll be this way for another week at least, an' with my coloring, I need some serious sunscreen help. Yeah, I'm pretty tan anyhow, but that don't mean I wanna have to deal with skin cancer in a few years. So I got me a nice, big rock and turned it into a covered chair. Nice an' shady. Of course the air still feels like it's blowing out of an oven, but I can deal as long as I'm not in direct sunlight.

So I'm just kinda bobbin' along, keepin' an eye out for more o' that gang trouble like what Star broke up a couple days back, an' I spot this guy climbin' up the outside of an apartment building. My first thought was_ 'second-story man'_ but then I thought it might be Running Guy, since Robin an' Gar both said he liked to climb buildings an' then jump off 'em. So I headed over that way.

The building was around fifteen floors, you know, seventy-five or eighty meters, an' he wasn't too far from the top. I came to a stop even with him, and maybe six or seven meters away, an' said, "You're the guy that gave Robin and Beast Boy the slip, ain'tcha?"

He spared me a glance and kept climbing. I floated up with him.

"Robin said you were fightin' some would-be rapists an' one o' those asshats stuck a knife in you."

He didn't react to that at all.

"You all healed up by now? Was it not a bad stick?"

He gave me a funny look, but didn't answer. Only one floor to go before the roof. He could climb really fast.

"You plannin' on jumpin' off once you get to the roof? 'cause I'd kinda like to see that."

Upon reaching the roof, he sprinted for the opposite side, calling back over his shoulder, "You kin watch eff you wanna, Miss. I got to go." And he just ran off into space, spread-eagle.

I kept pace with him until we were about five floors away from splat, then slowed down and watched while he hit the pavement – hard – in the middle of the street, and just bounced. Landed on his feet, an' took off south at a damn good rate.

Okay, it was about, maybe, 1530 hours an' the sun was canted off to the side enough that the buildings cast some pretty sharp shadows, and he wasn't in direct light when he landed, which is probably why I could see that he started to glow as soon as he bounced. Not a lot, but enough to notice. I thought that might mean something to Robin, so I made a mental note to tell him about it later.

I came up next to him – traffic was awful light, prob'ly on account of nobody wantin' to be out in the heat – an' leaned over an' yelled, "What's the big rush?"

He flicked me a quick look an' said, "Stick aroun', Miss, an' you see."

He had a cute accent. I stuck. But I also called Robin to report what I was up to. He got real exercised once he found out who I was tailing.

"Stop him!"

"You sure about that? He's not doin' anything but runnin'."

"It'll only be a matter of time before he causes another accident. Stop him. Now."

I tried not to grumble too much as I signed off. _'Stop him.'_ Yeah, well, that might be easier said than done. Jump City ain't all that far from San Francisco, and it shares some of the same sort of geography, hill-wise. As in, we got 'em. Not as many or as steep, but there's some good ones around, and as we topped one of 'em, I could see a decent-sized intersection at the bottom, you know, traffic lights an' stuff. That happens a lot. I guess it's just natural for folks to build roads along the base of a hill, but that makes it a total pain for drivers if they have to stop right at the bottom, or start off from a stop goin' uphill. Maybe the civil engineers in charge don't have to drive on 'em. If they did …

Anyway, Running Guy zipped down the hill, maybe ten meters in front of me. Looked like he was speeding up. I pulled a great big wad of dirt out of a lot as we passed by and threw it at him, but he just dodged it and kept going. Jinx herself couldn't have pulled off a better fade than that, an' he didn't even spare me a glance.

Stop him. Yeah, right. I could tell his reflexes were maybe, like, ten times better than mine.

There was a garbage truck that had just pulled out of a side street an' was headed down in the same direction some forty-odd meters ahead of him. Running Guy put on a burst of speed that surprised me, so I edged my boulder forward a little harder and looked for another vacant lot.

The light down there at the intersection turned yellow. The garbage truck, what was goin' maybe forty or fifty klicks by then, put on his brakes (they squeaked somethin' awful) for about two seconds, an' …

Okay, this is kinda where my fuck-up starts, but you gotta keep in mind that what happened next took maybe three and a half seconds, tops, and I didn't – I mean seriously, I _didn't_ – really have time to help, even if I _**had**_ figured out what was happening. Which I hadn't, because I don't know _**shit**_ about cars or trucks or how they work or what makes 'em go … or stop. And that's my story an' I'm stickin' to it.

His brakes squeaked, but then the squeak stopped and somethin' wet sprayed out from under it. I wouldn't have noticed it except that I was kinda just behind an' to the left of the truck, and some of it got on me. I didn't know what it was or why it was significant, but I knew … that is, I sorta realized it wasn't water. Not that there'd be any water on the street anyway, as hot as it's been and as long as we've gone without rain. Mainly it just confused me, and I wasn't really watching the truck … I was watching Running Guy. He had just passed the truck a couple seconds or so before, doin' what had to be nearly seventy klicks, an' he made it to the intersection just after the light turned green for the cross-street, an' slammed his hands down on the hood of a tiny convertible that was just about to pull out into the intersection.

The car barked to a stop. I caught a glimpse of the driver, a woman maybe pushin' thirty, an' a little girl in the passenger seat. An' then the garbage truck barreled through the intersection, horn blaring, an' the woman watched it zip by with her mouth hangin' open.

Running Guy looks up at me – and I'm sorta in shock just then, 'cause it hit me that he just prevented a really bad wreck – an' says, "You got t' stop de truck now, Miss. Hurry!" An' he ran off to the east, hell-bent for leather. I didn't waste any more time then an' zipped after the truck. Yeah, Robin would prob'ly want me to chase R.G. some more, but that truck needed stopping, an' there wasn't anybody else around to do it.

Okay, so the truck's brakes had failed. An' R.G. was _**right there**_ to stop what totally woulda been a hot mess. What was wrong with that picture?

There was a good, wide grassy strip between the sidewalk and the street at this section, so I pulled up a couple tons of earth and mashed it against the front of the garbage truck. It slowed down an' stopped right smart, a ways before it reached the next intersection, an' I flew over to it an' looked in the window.

That poor driver. He was positively green, an' couldn't get the door open fast enough. He noticed me right off, but felt like he had to lean against the truck an' spew chunks first. I let him finish an' then flipped him a water bottle (Robin insisted we take at least a six-pack of 'em with us on patrol). He took a long swig and said, "Th-th-thanks."

"Welcome." I looked back up the hill. R.G. was nowhere to be seen – naturally – an' I heaved a frustrated sigh. "You know what happened back there?"

"Hell." He was a young guy. Couldn't'a been five years older 'n me, an' he was rattled bad. Shakin' hard, he walked around the front of the truck an' sat down on the curb an' wiped his face with a greasy handkerchief. Then, again, he said, "Hell."

"You gonna be okay?"

"… Yeah. Tomorrow, maybe. Shit. Dude, I saw that woman's face. Saw her little girl. Didn't have no way to stop, and nowhere else to go. Couldn't plow into the bus."

That's right, there was a city bus in the on-coming lane. I was so focused on the car that R.G. had stopped …

"I woulda killed 'em, too. In that little Miata o' theirs? Hell, Trashosaurus probably outweighed 'em ten to one. They didn't stand a chance. Woulda killed 'em deader 'n a hammer." With elbows on knees, he leaned forward, rested his head on knobby fists, an' whispered, "Shit. Wouldna been nothin' but a smear."

"You got any idea what happened to your truck?"

"Hell if I know!" He looked up and his eyes were just a little bit wild. "Brakes just died! All of a sudden it felt like I was steppin' on a pillow. Went right to the floor."

"I saw somethin' wet come out from under you back up the hill."

"Huh." He took another long drink. "Musta popped a hydraulic line."

"You think it coulda been sabotage?"

"Sabotage? You kiddin'? On a garbage truck? Who'd be whack enough to pull some shit like that?"

"… Yeah. I getcha." I thought it over for a second an' shrugged. I'd let Robin know. Maybe he could organize an investigation or somethin'. Right then I needed to call Our Fearless Leader an' let him know R.G. gave me the slip.

_Needed_ to. Didn't _want_ to. I could hear him yell before I even hit the button.

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**A/N: More clues … more hints. What do you think? Review and let me know!**

**Next Chapter: Cyborg**


	4. Cyborg

_**Ricochet**_

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**Chapter 4: Cyborg**

Some days it just don't pay to chew through the leather straps in the morning.

I got the T-Car polished 'til it hurt to look at it, then me and Terra headed out on patrol. She took the western half so she'd have decent access to lots of dirt, which worked out fine for me since the roads are better in the eastern half. It's newer, mostly.

I was all set to try out my brand-spankin'-sparkly-new neural interface. I got the T-Car tricked out with a semi-spherical visual sensor array, so I can see everything around, everwhichaway at the same time. The array itself wasn't any kinda problem; gettin' my secondary brain formatted so that it would make some sorta sense? Yeah, that was tricky. I ended up using a batch approach, dividing the array into twenty-seven grid elements, and then cycling the …

Yeah, okay, you don't really wanna know about that. I got it to work, and that's all that's important.

Anyway, we hit the city right after breakfast, and it was smooth sailing all mornin'. I've got a modified (heh … _**heavily**_ modified) magnetohydrodynamic chiller in the T-Car, so the blazin' heat outside didn't bother me at all. Since it ain't a compressor-based system, delta-t doesn't matter, and it can't freeze up if the charge gets low. Can't say the same about the rest of the cars on the road – what of them there were – since I stopped to help no fewer than eight drivers who were candidates for roasting after their AC finked out.

But, no bad guys. Not even so much as a purse snatching, as far as I could tell. I guess that was one good thing about the brutal heat: it kept the villains too ragged out to try anything.

So I just cruised around 'til lunch and stopped at one of my favorite places. It's what they usually call 'casual dining', meaning that it ain't fast-food, but you don't need reservations or fancy duds. This outfit serves a blend of Northern Italian and authentic Central American eats, and they'll make it as hot as you want. Now, I live for food that bites back, but I've got my limits, and this place – it's called Pedro Scarlotti's – has barrels and barrels of ultra-hot peppers on-hand. They make all their own sauces and stuff, so custom orders are the norm. I love me some habaneros, in moderation, and Pedro knows how I like it. I ordered the Four-Pepper Enchilada Florentine and narfed my way through six baskets of chips-with-chorriqueso while they were makin' it.

After lunch (it bein' even hotter in the early afternoon than it was in the morning) I tooled around real easy-like, just taking my time and running the sensor array through its paces. It took some getting used to, but I managed to train myself to actually pay attention to what was going on in five different directions. A novel experience, as Raven would say.

By mid-afternoon I was getting bored. Here's a tip: if you really _**are**_ getting bored, don't comment on it, even if it's just to yourself. Karma will notice and provide you with a distraction. Mine came in the form of Running Guy sailing across the street from one building to another ten or twelve stories up.

I figured it was him real quick because the same second I spotted him, my T-Com buzzed with Terra's tone. "Yeah?"

"Hey, Vic, I just had a run-in with Running Guy."

"You okay?"

"Me? Yeah, sure."

"He cause a wreck?"

"Ah … no. No, he didn't. He stopped one."

"… Say again?"

"He ran into an intersection and stopped this little Miata from pulling out in front of a garbage truck with no brakes. They woulda been pancakes."

That gave me somethin' to chew on. "You sure it was the same guy?"

"Pretty sure, yeah. He's got a Caribbean accent. Dark skin, dark hair, maybe a buck-seventy, and muscles squeezin' out all over the place. Those smudgy pictures Robin took of him weren't much help, but I'd say it was him. Probably. 'less he's got a non-evil twin."

"Okay. Well if it _**was**_ him, he probably just jumped over me a few seconds ago."

"Serious? You're east o' me and he was truckin' due west, last I saw."

"Musta changed up his mind. Either that was him, or there's some other metahuman who's into sky-scraper-hopping. So one way or another, I gotta bounce."

"Laters."

I peeled out and hung a right at the next intersection.

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I'll say this for the guy: he can really move when he puts his mind to it, and he don't seem to be afraid of nothin'.

I picked him up pretty quick, and tracked him as he made his way a few degrees north of due east. Once my sensor array locked onto him, I didn't need to keep him in plain sight to follow him. After a few minutes of climb/sprint/jump/splat/bounce, he was still following the same exact vector, and I got a bad feeling about where he might be headed. I pulled up a map of the city on my heads-up display, overlaid his path, and …

Yeah. The airport.

I stopped trying to stay on his tail and headed north instead as fast as my turbo-thrusters would take me. Once on the freeway, I was at the West Gate of Jump City International Airport in about four minutes. And I didn't even have to flash my Titans badge to get in to see the head of Security. Heh. Guess all this hardware has its uses outside of battle, too.

Remember when I said Running Guy could really move? Yeah, I was still going over my concerns with Lieutenant Rogers when an alarm went off. He switched on a couple of monitors and started to curse under his breath. I peeked over his shoulder: one of the airport ambulances was racing out along a taxi-lane and while we watched it keeled around onto the tarmac and parked square in the middle of the runway. Running Guy got out and took off back toward the concourse at what I'd estimate was better than sixty klicks.

Now, JCIA isn't O'Hare or Logan or Hartsfield. It only handles about a hundred-fifty flights a day, maybe two hundred if they get really busy, but they got a couple of extra-long runways so they can take the jumbo-jets. That's where he'd left the ambulance, and there was a big scramble while Rogers got in touch with the tower. He had his side on speaker, so I could hear what was going on.

Sure enough, there was a long-haul Airbus not ten kilometers away, on his final approach. With thinly-veiled disgust in his voice, the ATC ordered the plane to bank off into a rapidly-calculated vector. They'd be in a holding pattern until things got resolved on the ground.

I turned my attention back to the first monitor, the one following Running Guy, and saw that he was real close to the building. A couple of air marshals had drawn down on him and while I watched they started firing. He ignored the bullets, just like Green Bean described. If anything, he kicked it up a notch, leaping straight over the marshals' heads and disappearing inside with them hot on his heels and screaming at him to stop.

Rogers got my attention. "You know this guy?"

"Sort of. He's been runnin' all over the damn city, leavin' car wrecks in his wake for a week."

"So why's he picking on us now?"

"I ever get my hands on him, I'll ask."

"Huh. You better have some serious speed if you want to catch him, looks like."

"Yeah, what you said."

I suspected he'd gone back in after another vehicle, and I wasn't wrong. There he came again, this time in a fire truck, lights flashing and sirens cranked up. With Roger's blessing, I ran back out to the T-Car and zipped out onto the tarmac myself.

Now, the T-Car has lots and lots of special modifications. A recent one that I'm rather proud of is a focused-beam EMP gun. You know how car chases can drag on and on if the guy you're chasin' has a solid ride? Yeah, not so much if I hit him with that. Turns off all the electronics. No spark, no combustion, no run. It's a total blast, seein' their faces when their ride stops and won't start.

So all I needed was a clear shot at this asshole from less than two hundred meters. And with 100,000 horsepower at my fingertips, gyroscopic stabilizers, fuzzy logic independent-reactive suspension, and smooth tarmac …

I had him in the crosshairs in about eleven seconds, and the fire truck sputtered, died, and rolled to a stop. I pulled up maybe fifteen meters behind him and got out. _All right, jerk, let's see you get away this time._ My arm reconfigured into its sonic cannon mode as the truck's door opened.

"Step away from the truck and lie face down on the ground!"

He stepped. He didn't drop.

"I'm not gonna ask again. You may be fast, but I'm faster. And either way, you can't outrun a sonic force blast."

"No kin do, mon. Got place t' go, t'ings t' do."

The cannon's targeting system aligned its launch vector with Running Guy's torso. "Last chance."

He tensed and crouch slightly. I let him have it. I figured if the guy could shrug off bullets, this wouldn't damage him much, at least not permanently.

He was already leaning forward a touch, and the cannon's wave front rippled his clothes like a wind tunnel. His shirt started to tear in places, and quickly shredded and ripped off of him. But he, himself, didn't seem to be bothered at all.

_Fine._ I turned up the power. When he didn't react, I slammed it all the way to the max and dialed the aperture down to a dot. I was gonna get this guy's attention, one way or another.

He stood up straighter, and I noticed that he seemed to be glowing. The longer I blasted him, the brighter he got. After about fifteen seconds, I was thinking maybe this might not work the way I thought it would; before I could turn it off, though, he … um … jumped.

He jumped a really long way. As in, he landed in the trees on the other side of the fence that runs around the airport. About half a kilometer away.

I stood there and gawked. This was new. And, yeah, I could run damn fast, but he was already out of sight. Running back to the T-Car and checking my tracking program, I cursed under my breath when it became plain that he was no longer in target lock.

Robin wasn't gonna like this. Hell, I didn't like it either.

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**A/N: I apologize for the lengthy hiatus between the last update and this one. In my defense, I did write 'Discoveries' and 'Further Discoveries' during that time, so I wasn't completely useless.**

**So. Two more chapters to go. Read & Review.**

**Next Chapter: Starfire**


	5. Starfire

_**Ricochet**_

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**Chapter 5: Starfire**

I have lived on this planet of Earth, worked among humans, and been a part of our team for almost three years now. But although I have paid close attention, even to the reach of writing down lists, I still do not grasp many of the subtleties inherent in the human interactions. Perhaps it is simply the innate, genetic differences in our two races, and the varying ways in which we process information. Or it may be even more basic than that. They are creatures of bewildering complexity. Tamaranean emotions are most straightforward. We do not hide things from one another; in fact, we _**can**_not without great internal distress (my sister being the sole exception of which I am aware, but since she is physically and emotionally damaged, that is not the comparison of fairness). Yet keeping secrets of one sort or another appears to be programmed into human behavior at a cellular level. This applies also to Raven, who is not, technically, a one-hundred percent human, but it would seem that demons are, if anything, more secretive than humans. This does not confuse me as badly. Demons, by their very nature, need to be able to keep secrets in order to carry out their evil and nefarious plans. Raven has done the explaining of this to me.

I have never made my attraction to Robin a secret. Raven told me … Wait. What I mean is, it was not very long after our team was assembled that she informed me of his attraction to me. With my people it is the custom to make such declarations in person. If the affection is not returned, then at the least one will have gained a friend. If that other person also feels such affection, though, the couple will make an announcement so that all of their friends may join them in the experience of glorious joy at the new relationship.

Robin does not do this. As is said in this culture, we have been a 'couple' for well over a year, and it was only three months ago that he finally admitted to his mentor, the Batman, that he and I were … I believe his word was 'involved'. The Batman wisely understood this to mean that Robin and I had joined sexually, which for once paralleled the custom of my home. But I believe that the Batman had inferred that we had been so inclined for more than a year, when in fact it has only been about four months. Robin not only is prone to keep secrets. He is also very dense with regards to the physical aspect of a relationship. I was given no choice but to be very, um … _**plain**_ … about the issue. Once that difficulty was past, though, he became quite enthusiastic. It has given me much joy.

And this is what had to be known to understand the strategy we use when patrolling. He has done the explaining of the necessity to limit distraction during patrol, and apparently I am the very large distraction to him. This pleases me well, and I showed him how much, later, when neither of us was on patrol. However, he does like for us to do the patrol at the same time so that he may be more available to help in the event that I 'run into trouble'.

I think this is very much the cute. I am a great deal more durable than he is, and approximately eighty times as strong, yet he wants to be there to protect me. This is not precisely a 'secret' but it is a thing he does that I do not comment upon in order to prevent damage to his 'male ego'. Cyborg explained this idea of the 'male ego' to me one time; he said that most human males need to feel as if they are competent and in charge in any situation involving the other person they care about, especially in the protection scenario that I described. It is an endearing trait, if occasionally inconvenient.

But this time Robin had the duties that kept him at City Hall much of the day, so I was doing the patrolling with Raven. She had taken the north half of town and I had the south half to patrol.

I think that she and I make an extremely effective patrol force. Each of us can fly, so we can support the other in seconds if it is needed, and each of us has ranged abilities (my starbolts and her telekinesis), and we are both highly resistant to damage. Plus, she is my great friend, and worries for my safety almost as much as Robin does. In fact I sometimes am forced into the impression that she may have the romantic feelings for me. This would also please me well, as she is quite beautiful, though she is extremely modest, and the control that she is bound to exercise over her emotions would never allow her to admit such a thing. I have learned, in my time here, that physical relationships between two women are not considered … I believe the word that the man on the television used was 'mainstream' … and in some cultures they are entirely taboo. But California is more of the 'laid back', so if we decided to express these desires, perhaps it would be the okay. I will ask Robin about it later. He and Raven are great friends already, so I do not think he would mind.

But when the Running Guy first leaped into my field of vision, I did not feel it necessary that I call her. From what Cyborg and Robin and Terra had said, he could not fly, so he could not evade me, and I was quite sure that I was many times stronger than he was. So I simply followed him. I would be able to swoop down upon him without him seeing me or hearing me, and grab him by the arms and …

Well. He dived over the turnstile and disappeared into a subway entrance. That was inconsiderate. I flew in after him.

It was late afternoon and the heat wave was making the humans very miserable, but underground the temperatures were always nearly the same. So most people who were able to do so used the subway to travel, a very sensible alternative. Perhaps the Running Guy also wished to escape the heat.

The platform was very much the crowded, and the people were milling around in great confusion and noise. I deduced that the Running Guy had disturbed them. A young couple near me got my attention and then pointed down the dark tunnel, which made me sigh.

I have never been overly fond of dark, enclosed spaces. My home planet is vast and hot and bright, and its people live in the sun and the open sky. If we are deprived of sunlight too long …

But I steeled myself and lit my hands to cast at least _**some**_ light into that gloomy hole. I would need to be careful while flying through there. I did not wish to cause damage and collapse the tunnel.

The Running Guy, as I believe I have mentioned before, can move very quickly when he desires to do so, and it was obvious then that he so wished. I followed as fast as I felt it safe to fly, but it was more than three minutes before I caught up to him … and then I could not determine exactly what it was he was doing.

In the harsh glare of a small maintenance spotlight, everything was very clear, the man, the conduit, and the large metal housing in front of him. The box was electrical in nature, and my guess was that it had something to do with controlling or communicating with the subway trains. He had pried off the cover and was standing there, just staring at the mass of wiring, with an expression on his face that made me think of the word 'lost'. I landed beside him and gripped his arm. "Mr. Running Guy, you will come with me now."

"It de train, Miss!"

"… The train?"

"She gonna crash."

I tightened my grip and stared into his eyes. "What did you do?"

"Been done_** nottin'**_ yet. Been try figga what I _**s'pose'a**_ do. Ef I don' … de train, she gonna crash."

"… I do not understand."

"It fuzzy, Miss. Like a ol' dream. But I …"

His face seemed to light up and he turned to face me fully. "Dat's it! It _**you**_, Miss! _**You**_ gotta do it!" He laughed, and it almost sounded like a cough, and then he knocked a fist against his forehead. "_**Dat**_ why I hadda git you folla me! It make de sense now." And he looked at me expectantly.

"… What do you mean that the train will crash?"

"Dey a mix-up down de track. Dis box, she ban bollocked up, not workin' right. Train comin', gonna hit de wrong switch, en' up onna short piece, go right on inta de en' o' de tunnel, Miss! But you gonna stop it."

To say that I was confused would be to understate the case badly. He simply stood there and grinned at me for a few seconds, but then he took my free hand in his. "Dis you job, Miss. I canna do it. De train too big f' me t' stop. But you stronger." He squeezed my hand and pointed down the tunnel. "Dat way. An' not long."

Urging me with a hand in the small of my back, he all but dragged me along. But I stopped him and said, "I am the sorry, Mr. Running Guy, but it is my duty to bring you in to the police."

"Be it dat de police kin wait, Miss. You got dem people t' save." His eyes glazed over briefly. "Not be long now." The whine of the train's klaxon came to us faintly then from the darkness.

I was torn in my decision. It was possible that the Running Guy was telling the truth. In that case, I could not tarry, but would need to fly and prevent the wreck. But then he would surely get away. However, if I arrested him and took him to the police, and thereafter learned that a wreck had occurred that I could have stopped …

The klaxon sounded again, and closer. The Running Guy said, "You be off now, an' stop de train." His eyes were glazed over for a second, and he gasped, "I got to go!" And he sprinted back the way we had come.

Deciding that my choice was not really a choice (if people died in a wreck I could have stopped, I would never be able to live with myself) I flew at top speed toward the subway train. If the Running Guy was lying to me, I would find him later and … _**correct**_ his misapprehensions.

As it turned out, though, he was not lying. The train had, indeed just gone down a side-track; was still going, in fact. But I can fly very quickly, and was able to sweep around and position myself in front of the train. I pushed on it.

The poor man who was driving looked very frightened. As I found out later, he had not at all expected for the train to enter this track, and the shock had paralyzed him for a moment. But then, just after I started pushing, he applied the brake. Between the two of us we got the train slowed and stopped just as the bare rock of the end of the line came into view in his headlights.

And, indeed by the time I got back out of the tunnels and into the (blessed and glorious!) sunlight, the Running Guy was nowhere to be seen. I contacted Raven first, apprising her of the situation, and then called Robin …

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**A/N: Starfire isn't dim, nor is she slow. She is untutored in many of Earth's customs, and approaches situations in a straightforward and open manner. I get tired of people calling her "naïve" when she is simply artless. There is NOTHING wrong with her brain.**

**Next installment is the end. Read & Review, please!**

**Next Chapter: Raven**


	6. Raven

_**Ricochet**_

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_A/N: I do apologize for the 4-week hiatus. Life has been interesting. But, better late than never, I suppose. And now I can get back to work on "Instinct", assuming my Muse leaves me alone about other plot bunnies._

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**Chapter 6: Raven**

The extreme heat (extreme for humans, at any rate) had the pleasant side effect of keeping most people indoors, including those who would otherwise be out committing crimes, and for this I was grateful. It gave me some time to myself. Floating along, some two hundred meters above street level with my empathic field narrowed to the hectare or so immediately below me, I had time to reflect that I was basically content with my lot in life. This series of thoughts had been occurring to me more often of late. I had friends – real ones, not the imitation variety – friends who had proven themselves in the tempering fire of conflict, friends who would protect me with their lives, as I had done for them on many occasions. That level of trust is something that I have come to understand is almost unknown among the general populace (and completely foreign to anyone on my father's side of the family, but let's not go _**there**_).

The northern edge of the main Financial District had just passed under me when my T-Com played a short piece of Beethoven's "Ode to Joy". I pulled it out and said, "Hello, Starfire."

Her concerned visage gazed back at me. "Raven! The Running Guy has done the eluding of me!"

"Stop. Back up. Running Guy? You were chasing him?"

"Indeed, and I found him, but rather than arrest him, I was constrained into the saving of a train of the subway."

"… Wait … how did he manage to put a _**subway**_ in danger?"

"Oh … he did not. He was attempting to … ah … no, wait, that is not correct either. No, what he did was that he knew the train had to be saved, but he did not have the strength to do it. So he enticed me to follow him, and I was able to prevent the accident."

"… I see." I didn't, completely, but I calculated that asking her to explain further would only confuse me more. "How did he 'entice' you to follow him?"

"By allowing me to see him as he ran."

That, surprisingly, made sense. "And you followed him into the subway?"

"I did. But I was forced to save the train instead of capturing him."

"Tricky."

"I am not convinced that it was a trick in the way that you mean. I believe that he has an abnormally high level of intuition, and that he has … suppositions? Wait … is the word 'hunch'?"

"Yes, in this context I believe 'hunch' is correct. You think he gets hunches and feels compelled to follow up on them?"

"Yes! That is it exactly! He appeared to receive another such 'hunch' as we parted. He ran off in a great hurry and with much of the consternation."

I studied her face, trying to pick up the clues behind her words, and a couple of observations flitted across my mind, the first being that Robin is a lucky fellow. She really is quite beautiful, and if I were inclined that way she could be as serious a distraction to me as she is to him. But things being as they are, intimate relationships (with either sex) aren't really an option for me, certainly not for a long time, if ever. I can appreciate her pulchritude from an artistic and aesthetic standpoint, but that is all. The other thought that came to me was that our other teammates clearly don't give her enough credit. She's a keen observer of people and their motivations; if her cultural context is radically different, that is hardly her fault. Clearing my throat (and banishing my mental meanderings) I asked, "I don't suppose you have any idea where he went?"

"Sadly, I do not. But I wanted for you to be aware that he was active today. Perhaps you can detain him where I could not."

"I'll see if I can find him."

"Thank you, Raven!" The smile she gave me before signing off was as genuine as the Hope Diamond and twice as stunning, and again I reflected on how Fate had blessed Robin. I stowed the T-Com back in its holster at my waist.

A few months back I had turned eighteen. Birthdays were not the anathema now that they had been prior to the unpleasantness with Father, but I still did not 'celebrate' them. The others respected my wishes, for the most part, and did not throw me a party (though I think Starfire may have pulled a muscle or two in her efforts to restrain her glee). They did, however, a few days later take me out to a nice restaurant "for no particular reason".

Yes, I have some really good friends. Better – much better – than I deserve.

In any case, upon reaching my majority (evidently that age carries some significance in the infernal realms as well) I began to notice a few differences here and there. About a month after my birthday I managed to spill boiling water from my tea kettle on my hand, and after my reflexes had jerked it back I dashed to the sink to place it under cold water. But before I could, it registered that my hand didn't hurt. Examining it closely, I could tell I had not been burned. No one else was around at the time, and I kept this revelation to myself. Over the next few days I began to experiment, and discovered that my tolerance for heat was now truly otherworldly. A candle flame would leave no mark, and running my fingers through the tapering glow produced no pain. I don't know what my upper limit is – and frankly, I'm a bit hesitant to find out – but I can say without fear of rebuttal that the current heat wave is not even an inconvenience for me.

Nor was this the only thing that changed. That whole Daughter of Trigon situation has a few more perks than I had banked on, but I'll get to that later.

From Star's last location, I had an idea of where this 'Running Guy' (leave it to Garfield to come up with such a ridiculous moniker) would be if he were to head in my direction, so I kept a keen eye out for anything unusual on the streets. Before three minutes passed my efforts were rewarded.

Floating over until I was directly above him, I tracked his progress for two blocks, watching as he jumped over a few fences, caused a minor fender-bender, and then began climbing a building. There weren't too many tall ones in the area. This one was perhaps ten stories, and he went up the side like a squirrel.

I'd been counting on this. From what the others had said, he had a strong predilection for bouncing off the pavement at high velocity, and I had my own theories for his motivation. In any case, I wanted to snatch him before he could take another dive, and I had determined that picking him off the side of a building would be the easiest way to go about it. But I had to be quick, because he certainly wasn't wasting any time.

Dropping down to just below rooftop level, I extended a ribbon of soul-self, wrapped it around him, and jerked him off the ledge. Then, for the sake of some privacy, I teleported us both straight up about a kilometer.

He was struggling madly in his bonds, much good it did him. Super strength only helps when:  
>1 – you have somewhere to brace yourself, or<br>2 – you can pull or tear or crush something.  
>He had neither, being suspended in mid-air by a stretchy, black substance that simply gave and then snapped back, however he yanked and twisted. I quietly floated there for a minute while he figured that out for himself. Meanwhile, I examined his emotional state …<p>

… and nearly dropped him.

The man was a huge, seething pool of worry, angst, self-doubt, and frantic fear. There wasn't even the _ghost_ of a _hint_ of ill-will in the mix, though. Whatever he was up to, it wasn't because he wanted to hurt anyone. Ever.

Quite the opposite.

Once he had calmed down and come to terms with his current physical position, I brought us closer together and asked, "Will you tell me your name?"

"Miss, I got to …" He trailed off, and his eyes grew very wide. "Ah … beggin' grace, m'lady. I di'n know was you."

This I found most interesting. "You know me?"

"Know '_**bout**_ you, m'lady. You Lady of de Dusk, what did save de worl'."

And that comment brought me up short. There were _**very**_ damn few people who had any tangible memories of Trigon's advent, and I lived with most of them. "What do you mean by that?"

"You fought de demon. Killed him."

_Don't know as I would go quite __that__ far._ I cleared my throat. "How do you know this? Cleaning up Trigon's mess involved erasing memories of the event."

"Yes, m'lady, but I got a sign after."

"… A sign?"

"Yes, m'lady." He was staring at me with an unsettling intensity.

"Explain."

"It a sign. Like a sendin'."

The pieces clicked together, and Starfire's comments suddenly made sense. "You have precognition."

"… Beggin' grace?"

"Foresight. You get glimpses of future possibilities."

"Oh! Yes, m'lady."

Cocking my head to the side, I studied him for a bit. "But you don't have a lot of control over when or how you get the visions, do you?"

"No, m'lady. Dey come, an' I follow."

A tense finger tapped my chin for a few moments. "Would you be so kind as to explain to me the reasons for causing so many traffic accidents?"

"It de quickes' way to jog de bowl."

A moment's study failed to decipher that statement. "And just whose bowl are you attempting to jog?"

"It like when, de other day, dere was big 'splosion undergroun'. I see it comin'. Dat manhole cover, she gonna kill two people. Bes' way to stop it, be as to block it. I see who comin', who goin', when it happen, who has de bigges' car, an' who I can get to run into him wid'out gettin' nobody hurt."

"Ah." I processed this for a few seconds. "So, then … a few days later, you knew the garbage truck's brakes were going to fail."

"Yes, m'lady. Hadda stop dat little car, or dey get squished."

"Very well. That makes sense." I leaned toward him. "What about the airport?"

"Oh." He hesitated, and his emotional tension ramped up considerably. "Dat was diff'rent."

"Quite so. Two planes had to divert to SFO."

"Yes, m'lady."

"Why did they need to do that? Were they going to collide or something?"

"No, m'lady. Dat secon' plane couldn' be help. It was de _**first**_ one dat needed to land elsewhere."

"Why?"

"One o' de passengers … he a hit man. He land, he go into Jump, an' he gonna kill somebody. Instead, he en' up in San Francisco. Missed de connection, an' 'is target is still walkin'."

A chill ran up my back and down both arms. "A hit man?"

"Yes, m'lady."

"Do you know where he is now?"

He hung his head. "He dead, m'lady."

The chill got worse. "… How?"

"Him get push in fron' a bus."

"And did you foresee that as well?"

"… Yes, m'lady."

"But you did nothing to stop it."

"By den it was too late, m'lady. He gone, an' I had more signs to follow. No way I could get all de way to Frisco no how." He looked back up and held my gaze. "M'lady, I would ask you to put me back."

"Are you following a sign now?"

"Yes, m'lady. An' I don' got much time."

"Where do you need to be?"

"Nort' edge of de city. Dey a playgroun' full o' little ones, an' a gas leak."

The chill came back and brought its relatives. I wasted no time in discussion, teleporting us to the general vicinity. "Where?"

He seemed confused. "I don' know de landmarks from up here. Gotta follow de sign on de groun'."

I allowed his soul-self cell to dissipate, and he plummeted to the earth some hundred meters below, with me right behind him. When he bounced off the sidewalk, I noticed that his skin began to give off a faint glow. Righting himself quickly, he took off at ferocious pace. I followed him from the air.

Sure enough, less than two minutes later (after a couple of false starts) he skidded into the parking lot in front of a daycare center. I landed behind him. "Where is the leak?"

His eyes glazed over briefly. "Inside. In de kitchen."

I took his arm and encased us in black energy. We phased through the locked door, and then he ran farther into the building. I stuck as close as feasible. Very soon I could smell the telltale odor that spoke plainly of a natural gas leak. Stopping him at the kitchen door, I said, "You go clear out the playground. Get everyone off-site."

"Dat leak gonna blow! You don' wanna stay."

"I'll be fine. You just handle the evacuation."

Giving me a skeptical look, he tore off toward the playground. I followed my nose, and then my ears into the back of the kitchen. It had a few large, industrial-grade features, one of which was a massive twelve-burner stove-and-griddle appliance. The low whistling was coming from underneath it.

… _Azarath – Metrion – Zinthos … _

The portal I created then led to a dimension with a lower standard pressure than could be found on Earth, and the deadly gas was quickly funneled off into it. I then busied myself repairing the leak, which was accomplished rather quickly and expertly if I do say so.

When I rejoined … damn, I still didn't get his name … the Running Guy outside, he was still herding the raft of kids, and a few caretakers, away from the area. I popped out of the ground beside him, which startled him more than I'd anticipated.

"M'lady! T'anks to de God you outta dere."

"I've repaired the leak. It should be safe for everyone to go back now and …"

He shook his head. "No, m'lady, de sign still say she gonna blow."

Patience with others is a skill I am still working on. I could feel my mouth and forehead forming a frown. "You should update your software. I just told you, I fixed it. It isn't leaking, and the gas that had leaked isn't there anymore."

"Be dat as it may, m'lady, but dere gonna be a big 'un soon. We still too close."

"Look. I know you have relied on your visions to a large degree, but I promise you there is no …"

And that's when the building blew up.

I threw up a shield, which saved us all from the shrapnel and the rain of pieces of ex-building. Then, looking (I fear rather stupidly) at Running Guy, I said, "It exploded."

"Yes, m'lady. But you got me here fas' enough to save dem." He knelt in front of me and took my hand in both of his, kissed the back of it, and then regained his feet. "I got to be on de docks in twenny minute."

Making a 'sit-&-stay' motion, I answered, "Wait right here. Don't run off just yet."

He folded his arms and stood at rest.

I walked a few meters away and pulled out my T-Com. "Starfire?"

"I am here, Raven! Have you found the Running Guy?"

"I have. And he's … quite full of surprises."

"You can say _**that**_ more than once!"

"Follow these coordinates and get to me as quickly as is safely feasible, okay?"

"I will do this, friend!"

And thirty-seven seconds later, her boots _tokked_ down on the parking lot pavement. Eyes growing wide, she looked askance at the milling children (who all wanted to go poke around in the demolished building, much to the dismay of their caregivers) and then at the debris field the explosion left, and turned to me with an almost comically quizzical expression. "What has happened here?"

"Hang on just a moment." I went back over to the precognetic. "Sir, you never did tell me your name."

"Is my bad, m'lady. Name be Gerard Williams."

"… Williams. Thank you. So … you are from Jamaica?"

"Born dere. Moved aroun'."

"How did you get to Jump City?"

"Followin' de sign." He was getting antsy. "I got to get to de docks."

I motioned for Starfire to join us and then took their hands. A couple of intensely cold seconds later, we were standing on Pier 16. "This is about in the middle of the port area. Which way?"

He got a thousand-meter stare for a moment and then pointed north. "Dat way. But I need to climb somet'in' first."

"No need." Turning to my other companion, I said, "Starfire, would you please hit Mr. Williams with a starbolt?"

She blinked at me. "What? But … why? He did not do anything!"

"Trust me, Star. Just do it."

Hesitantly, she powered up one hand, pointed at Gerard, and closed her eyes just before cutting loose. The blob of green plasma impacted his chest. The front of his mesh shirt whiffed into ash and floated to the ground, but he instantly took on a strong, golden glow.

Gasping in surprise, he gazed, stupefied, at his arms, grinned widely, and shouted, "T'anks!" before running off to the north at what had to be close to ninety klicks. We took to the air to follow him.

It wasn't even half a minute before he pulled up short in front of a large cargo vessel. Containers were being off-loaded with a crane, and one such huge metal box currently dangled from the long cable. Gerard made to dash over to a brace of men who stood looking through some document that took both of them to handle, and seemed oblivious to their location under the container. But, suddenly coming to a different decision, he instead jumped up to the container – a leap of perhaps twenty-five meters, vertically – and glommed onto the box's superstructure. Quickly climbing to the top, he grabbed the cable just above the stabilizing ball over the hook, and wrapped both his legs into the mess of cables attached to the six points on the box. Then he sort of pulled up on the container.

The crane operator must have been a real winner, because he never seemed to notice the addition of a man to the scenario. The box made it to its designated spot on the dock before anyone noticed their passenger, who by that time was looking pretty winded. Starfire and I flew up to him. I stuck my arms akimbo and said, "Explain yourself."

"Sorry … m'lady. I was … goin' … jus' move de men … keep 'em from gettin' squish. But den … I t'ought if I jus' keep de cable … from break in de firs' place … it be better. No mess to clean up. No insurance problems. No late shipment." He flopped back onto the hot metal. "Mighty tired, now."

"Star, hit him again."

One starbolt later, he was back on his feet and grinning. "Dat de bes' feelin'! You de bomb, miss!"

"Uh … thank you, Mister Running Guy."

"De name be Gerard, miss."

"Ooo!" She clapped her hands. "May we be friends, then?"

"I t'ink dat'd be nice."

Getting his attention again, I asked, "Do you have another sign to follow right now?"

Bowing his head in thought for a moment, he finally shook it and said, "Got nottin' firm. Nottin' hard. Jus' hazy. So may be a day or two."

"In that case, we would very much like for you to come and meet some friends of ours."

That grin was back, and threatening to crack his face open. "Dat'd be more samer dan awesome."

It only took seconds to get Robin on the T-Com, and less than a minute to fully apprise him of the situation, after which he was just as eager to meet Gerard as we were to introduce him. "Great. We'll be there shortly." Turning to the hyper proto-hero, I asked, "Do you eat?"

"… Beggin' grace, m'lady?"

"Do you eat food? I know you can absorb energy directly, but I …"

"Oh! Oh, yes! Lovin' me some slow-bake chicken an' hard rolls. Or anyt'ing else you got, pert much."

Starfire clapped her hands again. "Oh, Cyborg is going to be the great friends with you, Mr. Gerard!"

"It jus' Gerard, miss."

"Please, call me Starfire."

"Dat I will."

I'd been considering the two of them for a bit and tapped him on the arm. When I had his full attention, I said, "I think I have the perfect code name for you, Gerard."

That seemed to confuse him, so I explained. "Our leader, Robin, uses that name in public. It isn't his real name, which he keeps a secret to protect his loved ones from retaliation by the criminals we fight. Star's name – well, the name she was born with – isn't technically Starfire, although that is a rough translation into English."

"I t'ought she might not be from 'round dese parts."

"No. The Vega system. A planet called Tamaran."

He chuckled delightedly.

"The other members of our core team go by Beast Boy and Cyborg and Terra for the same reasons. Anyway, if you decide to become part of our team, or even an Honorary Titan, you'll need a code name, too. We wouldn't want anyone to learn your real name and then track down your loved ones to use as leverage against you, or even out of revenge."

That sobered him up. "Dat's a good idée. Whatchoo t'inkin' 'bout?"

"I think you should call yourself Ricochet."

He rolled that around for a minute and grinned. "Ricochet. Like de bullet. I like it." Giving us both a keen eye for a few seconds, he nodded and added, "It be right handy, have Miss Starfire aroun' to power me up like dat, too. An' ride wid you, m'lady, to de places I got to be, wid plenty time to do what I got to do."

"Exactly. And it will be very handy for us to have someone around who can absorb energy beams without damage." I gestured at what was left of his shirt. "We'll have to find you a costume that can take the strain, though."

That made him laugh. "I pert tough on clothes, dat's for sure."

Starfire floated up half a meter or so out of sheer glee. "Can we go and meet the others now, Raven? Please?"

"Certainly." And wrapping them both in a blanket of soul self, I carried us to the Tower.

. . .

. . .

. . .

**A/N: It's a wrap. And now the monkey's off my back.**

**Read & Review, please!**


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